


Here's To Us

by littlefrog1025



Series: domestic!Stucky [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Anal Fingering, Big!Steve, Blow Jobs, Bottom Steve Rogers, Crying Orgasms, Dirty Talk, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Finger Sucking, Future Fic, Hand Jobs, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Nipple Licking, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Past Domestic Violence, Pet Names, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rimming, Rough Sex, Snowballing, Tattooed Bucky Barnes, Top Bucky Barnes, art therapist!Steve, chef!bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-20
Updated: 2016-08-20
Packaged: 2018-08-09 21:07:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7817272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlefrog1025/pseuds/littlefrog1025
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A week in the life of domestic!Stucky.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First Stucky fic! Hope you like it. Enjoy.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friday through Monday.

**FRIDAY**

 

Coffeeshop jazz music sounds throughout the [house](http://www.houzz.com/projects/715942/new-west-classic) as Steve walks in with two heavy canvas bags full of groceries on one arm, and his 3 year old son, [Joey](http://www.gettyimages.com/detail/photo/year-old-playful-boy-royalty-free-image/542706189), on the opposite hip.

“Bucky? Buck!”

He swings the door closed with his foot and hurries to the [kitchen](http://www.houzz.com/photos/17901837/New-West-Classic-traditional-kitchen-vancouver). He holds tight to Joey and dumps the bags on the island with an exasperated sigh of relief. He shakes out his numbing arm, hoping to regain some quick feeling in it. He turns off the sounddock on the counter.

“Bucky!”

No answer.

Steve rounds the island and heads down the hall to the back of the house. He enters a wildly colorful room of blue walls with painted animals along all three facades; toys everywhere, books, a painting easel, puzzles, games— a [playroom](http://www.houzz.com/photos/6174467/Traditional-Kids-traditional-kids-boston).

Sitting at the small yellow table beside the French doors leading to the backyard, is a young girl mashing Play-D’oh with her delicate hands.

Steve puts Joey to his feet. The small boy hurries happily to the pile of Legos on the other side of the room. “Sarah.”

The young girl, [Sarah](http://www.gettyimages.com/detail/photo/young-chinese-girl-with-laptop-royalty-free-image/113886385), looks up and smiles brightly at Steve. “Hi, daddy.”

Steve approaches with a kiss atop her head. “Where’s papa, sweetheart?”

Just then the doors open to Bucky rushing in from outside, a slightly nervous smile on his face as he hurries toward the doorway. “Hey. Didn’t hear you come in.”

“Guess you wouldn’t all the way back here with the music going. What were you doing outside?”

“Nothing.”

Neither of them miss the small gasp from Sarah who quickly puts her head down when Steve and Bucky look her way. Her Play-D’oh has suddenly become even more interesting then it was a moment ago.

Steve’s attention draws toward his husband, but Bucky’s already gone.

“Bucky,” Steve growls, chasing after him.

“I had one cigarette, Steve,” Bucky responds in his defense, coming into the kitchen; Steve hot on his heels.

“And how many have you had since you promised me you’d stop smoking?”

Bucky stammers.

“Okay. Better question: how long have you being lying to me?”

“It’s technically not lying, but an omission of truth,” he counters, playing coy, as he unloads the bags of groceries.

“And technically you were supposed to have quit a month ago. _Technically_ , you’ve been given me the false impression that you’ve quit for 4 weeks now. _Technically_ , that’s fraud.”

“Where’s the plums,” Bucky asks, looking confused at the food before him.

“What plums? Where are your cigarettes?” Steve’s determined to stay on point. Bucky has a way of…distracting him during important conversations.

“The plums I asked you to get. The main reason you were going to the store. So I can make my [grilled chicken with plum sauce](http://www.sheknows.com/food-and-recipes/articles/993729/grilled-honey-balsamic-chicken-with-red-onion-plum-sauce) you practically come in your pants over.”

Steve blushes red, flushing hot at the mere mention of Bucky making him come.

_Distracting._

“It’s alright. I’ll make something else that’s equally orgasmic,” Bucky winks at Steve. He leans over the island, grabbing Steve by his T-shirt, drawing him in for a kiss—

“You taste disgusting.”

Bucky groans, breaking away from his husband. “Quitting is hard,” he whines. “Especially cold turkey.”

“Which is why I suggested you get the patch, or buy that gum, but no. You wanted to just stop all together ‘like a man’, I believe you said.”

“Well, it turns out its hard, Steve. I’ve been smoking since I was senior in high school!”

“Which is why you need to quit! You promised me, **James**.”

Steve stalks off toward the stairs. He knows he’s a dirty fighter, calling Bucky by his real name with a pout, and storming away, but he has been lied to by him, and Bucky seems pretty unapologetic about it. So, he has to break out one of his secret weapons. And Steve feels it’s a shame he has to in order for his husband to grasp the concept of lying.

»»»

“Dinner.”

Steve looks up from his charcoal drawing, hands sooted black with smudges. Bucky stands in the doorway to his [studio](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/1d/8d/43/1d8d43545c5694cf1beecfffbc09a901.jpg), dishtowel over his shoulder.

“5 minutes,” he answers Bucky, returning his attention to his drawing.

Bucky pushes himself off the door jam and crosses the art studio to Steve. Steve continues making small, black smears along the once stark white paper. His eyes stay on his project, ignoring Bucky and radiating tension.

Bucky wraps his foot around a nearby stool, dragging it to him with a horrible scraping sound along the cold, cement floor. He takes a seat on it, sitting close to Steve at his drafting table, who’s still ignoring him.

“I’m sorry.”

“Its fine, Buck,” Steve says curtly.

“Don’t do that, alright. It’s not fine. You’re upset.”

Steve shrugs. “Doesn’t matter. If it did you wouldn’t have lied to me and made quitting a priority.”

“Steve, I did try—”

“Sure, you did.”

“Okay.” Bucky snatches the charcoal crayon from Steve’s hand. He grabs the seat of Steve's chair and forcefully turns it closer to him so Steve can look him in the eyes. “I know you’re pissed, and I let you down. I’m sorry, but don’t drag this out with that passive-aggressive thing you do sometimes. I fucked up. Tell me how to fix it.”

Steve went to a restaurant called The Howling Commandos for his birthday 7 years ago. A steakhouse, but the place looked more like an overgrown coffeeshop with it’s hues of rich brown, leather couches, and whites walls and pillars of subway tile. There was something easy, but upscale about it, like an inviting man-cave for guys with man buns and handlebar mustaches. But they were known for their ill-fitted yet delicious food. So Steve went that one time, on his birthday, and had quickly become a regular since.

After turning himself into a stable of the place for about a year, Steve finally asked the manager, Helen, if he could possibly speak to the chef. He felt it about time that he personally shake the hand of the person that had given him an almost religious devotion to the restaurant and its food for the last 365 days.

And out walks James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes, 45 minutes later. All cool swager with his James Dean hair and inviting smirk.

He wore a long, messy apron tied around his waist and a [grey Henley](http://shop.nordstrom.com/s/john-varvatos-star-usa-eyelet-neck-henley/4307261?origin=category-personalizedsort&fashioncolor=GREY%20HEATHER) blotched with sweat stains at the collar and under his arms. The short-sleeve shirt he wore exposed the vibrant [watercolor tattoos](https://www.google.com/search?q=grey+henley+men%27s&rlz=1C1NHXL_enUS681US681&espv=2&biw=1280&bih=899&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwi82cKwjNbOAhVE5iYKHSIeAh4Q_AUIBygC&dpr=1#tbm=isch&q=watercolor+tattoos&chips=q:watercolor+tattoos,g_2:man) aligning his entire left arm and peeking through the unbuttoned V of the soft-looking fabric at his left pec.

Bucky’s eyes widen at Steve as he made his way to the bar, and Steve knew he’d captured Bucky’s attention just he had captured Steve’s own.

They sat at the bar, well past closing, drinking beer and flirting back and forth. Bucky was better at it, turning Steve various shades of pink as he made playful innuendos, smiled sweetly at him, and gently drew circles with his fingertips on Steve’s knee.

Occasionally, without asking permission, Bucky peppered the conversation by lighting up a Marlboro, caring not whether the ash he flicked from his lit cigarette made it successfully into the gold plated tray atop the bar. But he never, not once, took his artic blue eyes away from Steve. Even when his staff left for the night bidding him ado, and his manager handed him the keys to lock up.

Bucky was dangerous. Because Bucky was gorgeous. Cigarette dangling from his lips and all.

So, Steve knew who Bucky was, and accepted him for it. And in turn, Bucky knew him, too. Therefore, Steve thought he had no right to ask Bucky to change, even if it was for something that would help to keep him alive and with him for as long as humanly possible.

But Steve's self-preservation had grown thin over the years and his selfishness to keep Bucky in good health outweighed his fear of pushback.

“I don’t want to watch you die. Not like how my mom died, Bucky.”

This isn’t a secret weapon. He’s not tugging at heartstrings or laying on a guilt-trip. He means it. Watching his mother, their daughter’s namesake, slowing succumb to lung cancer was the most painful experience of Steve’s life. His father— Joey’s namesake— dying months later of [broken heart syndrome](http://www.heart.org/HEARTORG/Conditions/More/Cardiomyopathy/Is-Broken-Heart-Syndrome-Real_UCM_448547_Article.jsp) didn’t make anything any easier.

“I can never go through that again,” Steve tells him, eyes turning wet with the memory of the doctors removing his mother’s feeding tube, and the long, high-pitched beep of her heart monitor flatlining. “Especially not with you.”

Bucky’s hands come up to frame Steve’s face. “Baby, I would never put you through that. Ever. You or the kids.”

“Then don’t, Buck.”

Bucky’s thumb wipes away the stray tear rolling from Steve’s eye. “I’m not going anywhere. I swear to you, Steve.” He leans into Steve’s ear: “I’m with you ‘til the end of the line.”

»»»

Steve collapses on the [bed](http://www.houzz.com/photos/5541175/Bedrooms-transitional-bedroom-new-york). Bucky falls down right beside him.

“Dishes washed,” Steve tells him.

“Kids tucked in,” Bucky says.

“Thank God. I thought Joey would never get to—”

Bucky’s suddenly hovering over him, tugging at his khakis. Steve smiles, twisting his body around so they’re not awkwardly fumbling at one another like a couple of teenagers.

Bucky gets Steve’s pants and boxers off, pulling them down and off his bare feet before pulling his own T-shirt over his head.

Steve will never tire of seeing Bucky shirtless. He loves the stylized and colorful map of tattoos covering his whole upper left side, from the giant red star at the ball and socket of his shoulder, to the glorious branch of Victoria plums that nearly take up his entire bicep. Steve wants to lie still and trace each detail with his fingers, but Bucky’s tugging his underwear off his feet, standing naked off the bed, and Steve’s lost all train of thought.

Steve’s barely gotten his T-shirt off when Bucky manhandles him, dragging him to the edge of the bed on his back.

He’s not in a hurry. He just knows what he wants, and Steve’s breathless waiting for it. He loves Bucky like this: quiet, rough, and demanding.

He waits patiently as Bucky leans over and opens the nightstand drawer. He takes out the small pump bottle of [Boy Butter](http://boybutter.com/collections/boy-butter-lubricants-water-based/products/boy-butter-h2o-5-oz) and tosses it on the bed beside Steve.

He gets to his knees, kissing Steve’s inner thighs, making his way to the center, and takes Steve’s balls into his mouth. Steve’s back arches off the bed as he gasps, feeling Bucky’s hot, wet mouth explore his shaved testicles.

“Buck… Oh, God…”

Bucky licks a long, sloppy wet line up Steve’s shaft, circling his tongue around the head and flicking the slit.

Steve’s chest heaves with him feeling warm and numb and overwhelmed all at once.

Bucky spits into his hand and wraps it around the base of Steve’s cock. He slides it up and down, squeezing a little harder each time with the rotation of his hand.

“Bucky…” Steve’s eyes are closed, but he can feel the smirk on Bucky’s face. He lives to drive Steve crazy.

Steve shudders. They haven’t touched each other in almost 2 weeks. There was always something that got in the way of them being intimate, and left them exhausted with sleep by the end of the night. And trying to make love in the morning-- with two children who have more energy than a circus monkey-- at 6AM didn’t fair them much time to be together either.

So Steve’s ready to blow with just the little contact he’s gotten from Bucky thus far. But Bucky grabs tight to the base of Steve’s dick, stilling his orgasm. “Not yet, baby.”

Steve’s frustrated and backed up as hell. Still, he nods. Bucky will take care of him. Bucky always takes care of him.

“Hold off for a little while longer, okay, Stevie?”

Steve nods again, but loses all sense of cohesive thought when Bucky sinks his pouty mouth down his dick. He’s still holding firm to Steve’s cock, preventing him from coming, and Steve’s feeling dizzy, right on the cusp of rapture and aggravation.

“Bucky, Bucky, Bucky…” he says like a prayer, fisting the sheets, as his husband gives him messy, slobbering head. Bucky’s oral has never been about technique, but pleasure, and the raunchiness that gives way to it.

He slowly pulls off Steve’s cock with a web of spit stretching between his mouth and Steve’s head. Steve sits up, grabs Bucky by his hair, and kisses him. Their teeth clack and Bucky opens his mouth, accepting Steve’s vicious tongue.

He pushes Steve on his back again, climbing over him, lips never leaving his.

Bucky grabs the Boy Butter and breaks their kiss long enough to squirt lube onto his fingers. Steve spreads his knees as far they go. Bucky rubs a soft, slick finger at Steve’s hole. Steve whimpers, head burrowing deep into the bedspread.

“You like that,” Bucky asks, teeth nipping at Steve’s jaw.

“Y-Yes.”

“Good.” Bucky’s lips trail downward between soft kisses and hard bites. He takes Steve’s nipple into his mouth just as he slips a finger inside him.

Steve wants to cry. He doesn’t know how much more he can take.

Bucky slips in another finger and Steve has to bite his lip to keep from moaning too loud. The last thing he wants to do right now is wake their children.

“Look at me.”

Steve opens his eyes to stare at his husband.

Bucky pushes in deep, fingering him with shallow thrusts, as they keep their eyes trained on one another.

“I love you,” Steve rasps out in his dry voice.

“I love you, too.”

Bucky curls his two fingers inside Steve, barely grazing his prostate—

“Oh, sh—”

Bucky clamps a hand on Steve’s mouth, turning him on even more as he struggles not to come yet. He bites down on Steve’s neck, leaving spit and teeth marks Steve is sure will create a big, purple hickey there by morning.

Bucky slowly slips his fingers from Steve and pumps a few drops of lube into his hand again. Steve watches as Bucky slicks his cock, then lines himself up against Steve’s entrance.

Bucky pushes in slowly. “Fuck, you’re tight…” And it’s Steve’s turn to be smug when he catches the euphoric look on Bucky’s face as he fits perfectly inside him.

“Come on, Buck.” Steve cants his hips upward, trying to get Bucky to move, needing some friction.

“You need it, baby?”

“Oh, my God, Bucky, please,” Steve begs.

Bucky claps one hand on Steve’s hip and the other behind his neck. He snaps his hips in a deep, hard thrust, making Steve cry out and come all over his own stomach.

He tried to hold back, to last, but it’s been two weeks without this and Steve could only stand so much build up.

“Fuck, Stevie…” Bucky practically growls, pulling Steve’s hair and driving hard and deep into him with a punishing rhythm.

Steve’s boneless; his still hard cock beating against his belly in his own mess, as Bucky fucks him wildly.

Bucky tilts a little to his left and turns Steve a bit, hitting his prostate just right and making Steve come alive again.

“Bucky! Oh, God! Shit, shit, shit…”

Steve doesn’t swear anywhere outside the bedroom with Bucky, and his obscenities are his tell; Bucky knows he’s close. Again.

“Oh, goddamit, Buck! I need…” Steve breaks off into a whimper at the constant assault at that special spot.

“What do you need, baby? Tell me.”

Bucky knows. He always knows. He just wants to hear it.

“Bucky, please!”

Steve’s nearly in tears. They’re crowding around the corners of his eyes.

“Tell me what you need and I’ll give it to you,” Bucky smirks.

Steve wants to call him a smug bastard, torturous asshole, cocky son-of-a-bitch— every cursed name he can thing of, but words can’t form in his mouth properly at the moment, so all that’s heard are broken, gibberish swears. Steve’s nothing but a withering blob.

“Come on. You can do it, baby. Tell me.”

“I…” Steve swallows hard, suddenly losing breath. “I… I want— _Jesus, Buck…_ I want— _ah, ah, ah…_ I want your fingers. I need your fingers.”

Bucky tugs harder on Steve’s hair. “How bad you want it,” he asks, leaning down to lick into Steve’s mouth without breaking stride.

“S-So bad. I want it so bad,” Steve admits.

Bucky leans back, keeping pace, as his fingertips release his hair, and delicately trail up Steve’s throat. His chin. And at his mouth, tracing along it smoothly before sliding in.

Steve’s tongue plays at them, licking, biting, teasing.

He doesn’t know when this became a thing for him. He just knows it started with Bucky, right around the time the other man started calling him ‘baby’ in bed.

Steve closes his mouth around Bucky’s index finger, sucking it hard with a moan. He doesn’t miss the guttural groan from the man working him over like a full-time job.

“Fuck, Steve. You just don’t know…”

Steve opens his mouth to take Bucky’s middle finger, too. Moaning around them and the tight grip Bucky has at his jaw.

“Shit!” Bucky grabs Steve and flips him over on his stomach. He pushes into him again, wrapping his hand around his dick.

Steve’s never trusted anyone else he’s ever been with to have rough sex with. But he trusts Bucky, and the man doesn’t disappoint; hasn’t since their first time, and it’s done nothing but give Steve the greatest pleasure.

They have their moments of real love making, but admittedly, Steve likes this more. He’s wanted it since meeting Bucky. Wanted his hands around his neck, pulling his hair, slapping his ass, squeezing his cock… He needs Bucky like this: dominant and possessive. He likes being reminded of just who it is he belongs to, and vice versa.

Bucky snaps his hips viciously, fucking Steve into the mattress. Steve’s loud moaning and swearing is bouncing off the walls, forgetting all pretense of not waking their kids. But Bucky wraps his hand around Steve’s mouth and leans into his ear:

“So fucking good… Love fucking you… My dick is so hard… Want you to feel it tomorrow… So pretty on my cock… Shit, Steve… The tightest pussy…”

Steve loses it, coming all over himself and the sheets, screaming into Bucky’s hand.

Bucky stills, spilling inside Steve with a loud, destroyed moan.

Steve slumps into a pile of mush. Bucky collapses sweaty and hot atop his back.

Steve’s shaking, trying to find his breath.

Bucky kisses the back of his neck and rolls off of him, slapping Steve’s ass as he lies beside him. Steve turns his head, staring at his husband running a hand through his wet hair.

“Fuck, I missed you, punk.”

Steve smiles, completely sated. “Missed you, too, jerk.”

 

**SATURDAY**

 

“But I hate Maria,” Sarah whines.

“A lot of people do, peanut,” Bucky tells his daughter.

“Bucky!”

Bucky shrugs. “People do. She’s a very unlikable 7 year old.”

Steve sighs. He turns in his seat, giving Sarah his complete attention. “Sarah, you may not like someone, but never say you _hate_ them.”

“Will you relay that exact message to Sam,” Bucky grumbles, turning off Roosevelt Avenue.

Steve swats at his arm.

“I understand that Maria can be…overbearing,” Steve continues. “But she likes you a lot and considers you a friend. That’s why she wanted you to come to her birthday party today. She wanted her friend there. So even though you may not feel the same about Maria, she is in need of kindness. Okay?”

“Oh, my God, Steve…” Bucky huffs under his breath.

“What?”

“You just told our daughter that she should be fake, and put up with shit—”

“Language!”

“—relationships because it makes the other person feel better. Damn her own happiness.”

“I said no such thing, Buck!” Steve turns back around to Sarah. “Sarah, repeat back what daddy said to you please.”

“You said to be friends with Maria even though I don’t want to be because she likes me even though I don’t like her.”

“Ha,” Bucky laughs.

“Well, that-that’s not what I meant, sweetheart,” Steve tries to clarify.

“Well, what did you mean?”

“Uh… I… Just…Just be nice to her today, sweetie. It’s her birthday. I promise I won’t make you hang out with her anymore if you don’t want to.”

“I don’t,” Sarah assures him.

Bucky snorts.

Steve glares at him, and Bucky tries his best to school his face into something that doesn’t look like he’s trying to keep from outright barking with laughter.

»»»

Maria Virginia Stark is a fucking asshole. Just like her father.

Bucky doesn’t care. He does not care if he’s saying horrible things about a child (albeit in his head), because the fact remains that she is a fucking asshole.

Like her father.

The birthday [girl](http://previews.123rf.com/images/eurobanks/eurobanks1309/eurobanks130900288/22400557-Cute-7-year-old-girl-holding-gerbera-daisy-flowers-isolated-on-white-Stock-Photo.jpg) is currently screaming her head off to her ever so doting father, Tony Stark, about not being allowed to open any of her presents yet. Her mother, Pepper, on the other hand, found a chilled bottle of white wine 15 minutes ago and hasn’t been seen since.

“I’m getting a vasectomy.”

Bucky hadn’t even noticed Clint slide up beside him, too engulfed in the car accident that is Maria Stark.

“Not all kids are like this. Mine aren’t. Thank God,” Bucky replies. “Yours aren’t either.”

Maria rips down a banner, throws it on the floor, and stomps on it angrily.

“Oh, shit. Phase Two. I’m ghost,” Clint whispers.

“Wait, no. You gotta stick around for Phase Four, when Tony drops to his knees and begs her to ‘please calm down. Everybody is watching’.”

“Oh, no, pal. The last thing I ever want to see is Tony Stark on his hands and knees begging a small girl. I’ll be by the beer.” Clint gives Bucky a slap on the shoulder and stalks toward the patio doors.

Natasha swings from around the corner and approaches him, eating a large [slice of pink cake](http://www.lovethispic.com/uploaded_images/116440-Pink-Cake-Slice.jpg). “Is it not glorious?”

Bucky snickers. He loves Natasha. She’s more Steve’s friend (like nearly all their friends), but he loves her nevertheless.

“I tried to get Clint to stick around for Phase 4, but he chickened out.”

“Coward. Phase 4 is the best, because then comes Phase 5— Pepper.”

“Half in the bag and ready to take on their spoiled-rotten daughter.”

“Which leads to Maria crying.”

“Then running to Tony.”

“Who coddles her.”

“Which pisses off Pepper.”

“Who drinks more wine.”

“Getting completely wasted.”

“Then picking a fight with Tony by telling everyone here a deeply humiliating secret about him.”

“Tony calling her a ‘lush’. More fighting.”

“Making this whole party awkward as hell.”

“Everybody leaves.”

“We stay to help clean up like good friends.”

“Then find them screwing each other’s brains out in the laundry room.”

“And it’s like it never happened.”

Bucky chuckles. “God, they are so weird.”

Natasha looks wistful as she picks at the thick icing on her cake. “They make it work though. In their own twisted, fucked sort of way, it works for them. I mean, could you picture Tony in a normal relationship? What does that even look like?”

Bucky takes her little pink plate, and little pink fork from her, helping himself to a healthy bite of her cake. “I’m trying to picture it, but it’s like snow. Like static on your TV. I can’t see anything, but I know something’s there.”

Natasha laughs. “Well, not everyone can be you and Mr. Perfect. It’s hard for some of us out there.”

Bucky takes in the flicker of a second she lets her guard down and the flash of sadness that covers her stunning face. “Things not going well with Dr. Banner,” Bucky asks.

“…Unfortunately.”

“What’s the deal, red?”

“Same old, same old: he’s smart and adorkable and good. And I’m cagey, untrusting, pessimistic and unreliable. Which is a shame, because I really like him... Enough to have almost brought him here to meet you animals.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Because my trust issues have abandonment issues which has an unhealthy fear of commitment. Oh, and I have PTSD. Occasionally, I wake up screaming from nightmares, and sleep with a glock under my pillow.”

“Bonus point though: you’re beautiful.”

She chuckles dryly. “Looks don’t count for shit in the long run…" She folds her arms over her chest. "I’m going to lose this guy,” she says, sounding hopeless.

“And then what?”

She kicks at invisible rocks with her foot. “…And then I’ll do what I always do: lie to myself. I’ll tell myself I’m glad he’s gone; ‘he was getting too attached to you anyway’. I just turn it all around in my head until it’s the story I’m most comfortable with.”

Bucky wraps an arm around her shoulders, pulling her to his chest. “Here’s a wild idea, how about this time, with this guy, we don’t do any of those thing? How about we pretend to be a normal, well-adjusted girl?”

Natasha laughs. Bucky knows it’s not that simple. And he knows Natasha is more than aware of that, too. “We’re engaging in some pretty heavy talk for a kid’s birthday party, Barnes,” she says.

“Are you calling me deep,” Bucky jokes.

“Never. You’re as shallow as a shower, Buck.”

“Oh, thank God. For a minute there I thought you were saying I was earnest and profound.”

“Aw, Bucky. There’s not an esoteric bone in your body,” she teases, pinching his cheek.

Steve walks into the [kitchen](http://www.houzz.com/photos/53991043/Amalfi-Drive-Residence-modern-kitchen-los-angeles) from the patio doors, joining Bucky and Natasha’s huddle. “You two better not be spectating.”

“How can we not, Steve? It’s the best train wreck ever. I mean, look at Stark on his knees, pleading with that monster,” Natasha mocks.

Bucky shrugs, earning another glare from his husband. That’s three thus far today. He wonders if he can make it to ten…

“You guys are wrong. She’s just a little girl who needs some discipline and a strong hand to guide her on the right path.”

“So…reform school,” Bucky asks jokingly.

Glare number four. Yeah, he thinks he can make it ten.

Sarah slips into the room from the outside. She’s wearing a light pink tutu like all the rest of the little girls at the party, but not nearly as elaborate as Maria’s own. “Daddy. Are we going to play games now?”

Maria spots Sarah and runs to her crying. She wraps her arms around her, wailing into the young girl’s shoulder about how unfair her daddy is being. Sarah looks both confused and annoyed with her arms at her sides and Maria stuck to her like glue.

She sighs, rolling her eyes, “Its okay, Maria,” she says, patting Maria’s arm lamely. “Your daddy just wants to make sure you do all the boring stuff first, before you can do all the really cool stuff like opening presents. Once you do that the party is over and you can play with all the toys people bought you.”

Maria lifts her head from Sarah’s shoulder, wiping her snotty, tear-stained face with her skinny arms. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. We already had cake, and once we play games you can open presents and then play with them.”

“Okay," she hiccups. "Let’s play games then.” Maria takes Sarah’s hand, pulling her back outside.

“Your daughter is a saint,” Natasha tells Bucky and Steve. “Tony owes her a pony.”

“Let’s not entertain that idea at all,” Steve says, wary Tony might actually buy Sarah one.

Bucky nods in agreement. After last year’s goldfish incident, Bucky doubts a pony should ever come into contact with their child.

Ever.

»»»

Bucky strips off his shirt and jeans, completely naked in less than 15 seconds as he steps into the hot [shower](http://www.houzz.com/photos/17902294/New-West-Classic-traditional-bathroom-vancouver), Steve already under the water with a smirk on his face as he watches Bucky join him.

“Well, hello.”

“Hello.” Bucky grabs Steve and kisses him hard under the spray of water. Steve moans into his mouth, falling against the tile wall. Bucky pushes him to his knees and Steve doesn’t miss a beat taking Bucky into his mouth.

Bucky’s head tips back with a loud moan, and his hand tangles in Steve’s wet hair.

Steve gives great head.

Amazing head.

One of the many surprises Bucky’s discovered about him since they’ve been together.

Steve’s all bashful smiles, “gee jolly, ma’am,” and merit badges 90% of the time, and Bucky loves his "boy scout," but that 10% of the time, when they’re alone and naked, is when Steve manages to shock the hell out of Bucky.

Bucky was admittedly thrown initially at how submissive and filthy Steve is in bed. When they first became serious about their relationship, Bucky figured they’d spend most their sex life either fighting for dominance, or willfully taking turns, but when Steve handed him the condom their first time, and rode Bucky like a stallion, the tatted chef was stunned to say the least.

From there on out, Steve started giving Bucky small hints as to what he was like during sex, and how he wanted Bucky to treat him in bed, but Bucky caught on rather quickly one night, tugging hard on Steve’s blond locks, pining him down with his weight, and growling about how much he loved fucking his “pussy.”

Steve came all over himself with tears falling from his eyes. And moved in with Bucky two days later.

Steve digs his fingers into Bucky’s ass, urging him forward a bit. Bucky knows what he wants. He braces a hand behind Steve against the wall, and pulls on Steve’s hair with the other hand, keeping him steady. He starts with a slow cant of his hips, sliding his cock in and out, fucking Steve’s mouth.

Steve drools as Bucky reaches the back of his throat.

Bucky’s rhythm grows a little harder, a little faster.

Steve moans, eyes sliding close, water spraying on him, his hands kneading Bucky’s ass… He takes all of Bucky into his mouth.

“Shit, Steve. Your fucking gag reflex…” Bucky lets loose and fucks Steve’s mouth like a savage.

Steve moans and whines around Bucky’s cock, feeling the salty tip drag back and forth along his tongue.

Bucky’ legs are shaking. He’s close.

Steve wraps his arms around his waist, keeping him still and steady, deep in his throat as Bucky comes. He grabs Bucky’s left hand and wraps it around his neck for him to feel Steve swallow every drop of cum. It’s Bucky’s favorite part.

Bucky pulls from Steve’s mouth and yanks him to his feet. He spins him around, pressing him against the tile wall, and jerks him off. Doesn’t take long. Three hard tugs and Steve’s spilling all over Bucky’s hand, screaming his name.

Bucky smiles, kissing his neck. “Love you, too.”

 

**SUNDAY**

 

Steve smiles at the hostess as he walks into [The Red Room](http://img.r-witherspoon.com/2016/06/23/restaurant-interior-design-l-efe1a3fae222c4e4.jpg). She locks the door behind them. It’s noon, so the restaurant isn’t open yet and the place is empty with the exception of a few scattered employees setting up for dinner tonight.

Steve heads toward the kitchen, but pauses when the sound of Bucky’s voice travels beyond the swing doors. He’s yelling, calling someone a ‘dick wart’, and possibly throwing what sounds like a lobster pot against the wall.

Scott Lang, a friend of Steve’s and the head bartender here, sneaks out of the kitchen, looking relieved once he’s free. He spots Steve. “Oh, thank God. Maybe you can bring him down to Defcon 3 at least.”

“What’s happening,” Steve asks.

“You know how he is. The clams for the [linguine and clams pasta](http://damndelicious.net/2014/12/20/easy-linguine-clams/) are bad, so we had to throw them out, and it just snowballed from there. I think now he’s just ranting about Donald Trump and rednecks,” Scott tells him.

“Darn it. I needed to tell him something… Guess now’s not a good time.”

“Oh, no. You need to tell him whatever it is you have to unload. You have got to save this team from your husband’s wrath. He’s swearing in Russian! Sharon started crying. That’s when he threw a pot.”

Steve takes a deep breath. He was really hoping Bucky would be in a better mood when he talked to him, but it looks like no such luck. And if he puts it off ‘til later it’ll just piss Bucky off even more when he does tell him.

Lose-lose.

Scott gives Steve a sympathetic pat on the back as he makes his way into the kitchen.

Scott’s right. Bucky’s holding court to his entire kitchen staff looking on in fear as he goes off in Russian.

Bucky lived in Moscow for a couple years after being discharged from the army. He met some Russian college students on a trip to Paris who invited him to stay with them in their home country when they were through backpacking. He ended up staying there for 2 years, until running out of money and missing home. He came back to Brooklyn, staying with his parents and working at his uncle’s diner for a few months before realizing cooking was a passion of his he wanted to make a profession, then worked his tail off to open his first restaurant, The Howling Commandos, named after his military unit.

So Bucky’s profanity-laced conniption is more than a little fluent.

“Buck…” Steve addresses, tame but loud enough to draw Bucky’s attention. “Everything okay in here?”

Bucky’s eyes land on Steve. He breathes in deep. Probably the first breath he’s taken since realizing he has to toss out a ton of expensive clams.

“Why don’t we go in your office for a bit, huh,” Steve asks cautiously.

Bucky takes another deep breath and nods.

Steve takes his hand, drawing him toward the small back [office](http://www.penbaypilot.com/sites/default/files/2013/01/image/photo-2.JPG). Bucky glares at everyone as they go inside and Steve shuts the door.

“…Want to talk about it,” Steve asks.

“Clams,” Bucky grits through his teeth.

“So I heard. Why don’t we take your mind off it for a bit and talk about something pleasant?”

“Where are the kids?”

Steve’s grateful to see Bucky’s at least articulating full sentences now. “Jane’s watching them with Mikko. She took them to the park after the aquarium,” Steve answers.

“Why didn’t you go with?”

“I wanted to see you.”

Steve wasn’t kidding. Bucky knows him. Knows him too well in fact. Knows the small subtle inflections in his voice, on his face, and in his body language. Bucky can pick up something so slight and see it so clearly. There’s nothing hidden between them. Therefore, it’s not a wonder when Bucky steps closer to Steve, right in his personal space, with his eyes darting back and forth, searching for something to give Steve away…

“You wanted to see me why…?”

“…I need you not to overreact—”

“Tell me. Now.”

“Just…don’t lose it, okay? It’s not that big a deal to begin with—”

“Which is why you left our children with our friend to trek all the way across town to see me and tell me…whatever it is you’re stalling with?”

“I’m not stalling. I am not. I just want you to promise to keep a clear head—”

“Oh, my God! Something happen with the kids?! Joey hurt? Sarah?”

“You think I'd be this calm if something did?!”

“Thank fucking Christ,” Bucky says, relieved, running a worried hand through his thick, brown locks. “Alright, so, nothing bad happened with Joey and Sarah. Are you divorcing me?”

“What?! No, Bucky!”

Bucky folds his arms over his chest. “Then whatever it is can’t be that bad, so just spill.”

It’s Steve’s turn to take a breath now. “I ran into someone.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “The suspense is killing me,” he says sarcastically.

“…I ran into Brock today.”

Bucky’s arms drop as he stares intently at his husband. “That better be a joke.”

Steve scratches the back of his head, nervous, and unable to met Bucky’s eyes. “It’s not. He was at the [aquarium](https://nyaquarium.com/) with his niece.”

“I don’t give a fuck who he was with! Did he speak to you?!”

Steve lifts his head. “…Yeah.”

“That asshole is going to die,” Bucky swears, nostrils flaring. “He is not supposed to be within 1000 feet of you.”

“I know that. And I don’t want him to be, but I can hardly blame the guy for not knowing I’d be at the aquarium today.”

“What’d he say to you?”

“We were near the shark tank—”

“Fitting,” Bucky snarks.

“—the kids and Jane were looking at the sharks and I was off to the side texting Sam about one of my patients who goes to meetings. I look up to some guy standing next to me and it’s Brock. I tried to back away but he put his hands up and asked for a minute to talk.”

“Oh, my God, Steve…”

“We were in public. What was he going to do?”

“Steve—”

“I gave him 30 seconds, Buck. That’s it. I swear to you.”

“And that’s 30 seconds too long! What’s the point of a restraining order if you don’t follow the rules, Steve? What could this asshole possibly say in 30 seconds that would make up for all the insane shit that he’s done?”

“…He apologized.”

“Did he now? Did he say he was sorry for the first time he hit you? Did he apologize for the second and third times, too? Does he regret stalking you? Harassing you? Breaking into your apartment? Breaking into _my_ apartment? Trashing my stuff and taking a disgusting shit on my bed? Is he sorry for storming into my restaurant hopped up on coke and punching the daylights out of Scott? He sorry for sending us death threats? Or for calling my sister and threatening to rape her if I didn’t break up with you? He sorry for stealing our cat, which I’m sure he killed? Did he apologize for all of that, Steve?”

“Yes, he did! But I didn’t say I forgave him! I just…listened to him,” Steve admits.

Bucky scrubs his hands down his face. “Steve,” he growls.

“I’m not being naïve, Bucky! And like I said, I didn’t forgive him for any of the insanity he caused. I only listened. I mean…it’s my job to listen to people, Buck, and find out what’s wrong. To help them.”

“Not this guy. Not Brock, Steve. Do you think you owe him something?”

“…He felt abandoned when I broke up with him.”

“Oh, my God! Are you kidding me?! Steve, you…you dumped that piece of shit because he hit you in the middle of playing Trivial Pursuit. And he hit you a third time at a fucking Burger King! You don’t owe him a goddamn thing! Not your time, and damn sure not an apology. That fucker made our lives hell for 6 months, Steve.”

“I know, Bucky. I know. I’m just telling you that I saw him, I let him say his piece, and he moved on. I left the kids with Jane because I wanted to talk to you about it. I _needed_ to talk to you about it. The whole thing…threw me off. Made me… I don’t know. I just wanted to be near you right now is all.”

He sees the fear and hurt in Steve’s face, and he remembers those first 6 months together, and how terrified Steve was of Brock. And of possibly losing Bucky because of it. He barely slept, and hardly ever left their apartment except for work. He can understand how seeing Brock after all this time, sane or insane, could spook him, and drive him toward Bucky, the one person that always makes him feel safe. Because that’s how Steve makes him feel.

Bucky sits atop the desk. “…Come here, punk.” He pulls Steve into a warm hug, holding him tight. Steve closes his eyes and gets lost in Bucky’s smell, burying his face in his neck.

“…Were you scared,” Bucky asks.

Being terrified is something Steve rarely admits, but with Bucky he’s okay to say those things. “…Yeah. Haven’t seen him in years. Almost forgot about him, and suddenly there he was, standing next to me. I felt like running. Just taking off. Just to get away.”

Bucky rubs his hands up and down Steve’s arms.

“Seeing him brought back all that stuff. Everything you said. And how horrible it was.”

Bucky presses their foreheads together. “Hey. I got you, alright? I’m not going anywhere and I’m not going to let anything happen to you. You or the kids. Got it?”

Steve nods, but still looks unconvinced.

“What I tell you when all this was going down? What I say to you?”

A smile grows on Steve’s face at the memory of Bucky’s words. “ ‘I’m with you ‘til the end of the line’.”

“You believe me, right?”

“Yeah. I believe you, Buck.”

And he does.

Steve leans in and kisses him. Bucky quickly turns the kiss hungry, exploring Steve’s mouth with his tongue, and unbuckles his belt.

Steve turns away long enough to glance at the door, making sure it’s locked.

It is…

»»»

Steve feels the bed take a big dip and hears a deep sigh beside him. He reaches over and flicks on the light atop the nightstand near is side of the bed. “Bucky,” he checks the time on the clockradio under the lamp. “It’s 4AM.”

“I know. I felt like an asshole for yelling at everyone, so I made them a late night dinner and closed up by myself. I’m fucking exhausted.”

He looks it; eyes close, body a motionless lump. He hasn’t even bothered to take off his clothes.

Steve climbs out of bed naked. He rounds the bed to Bucky’s side and unties his shoes, gently placing them on the floor. He takes off his socks, too.

Bucky’s already out like a light.

Steve takes off his leather jacket that smells like sweat and cooking oil. He’ll take it to the cleaners later this week.

Bucky’s like a rag doll as Steve removes the rest of his clothes, leaving only his underwear, knowing Bucky always sleeps in them. He rolls him over, pulling the sheet from under him, then rolls him back, pulling the bedding to his waist.

Bucky snores loudly and Steve laughs. “ ‘You’re crazy, Steve. I don’t snore.’ Yeah, right.” He places a sweet kiss on Bucky’s forehead and climbs over him to his side of the bed again.

Steve tucks himself in and turns out the light.

 

**MONDAY**

 

Steve wanders around the [circle](http://shoeonthewall.weebly.com/uploads/1/3/2/8/13287344/7921963_orig.jpg) of his patients, languidly eyeing their work.

It’s Monday so his usual seven should be here, but one’s missing. Isaac. Isaac’s stubborn and quick to temper, along with being a recovering heroin addict. His absence sends a chill of panic through Steve as he takes in the work of the others who’ve show up today.

Mondays and Thursdays he dedicates to war veterans only. So everyone’s work today is either gory and violent, or dark and self-loathing. For the last 6 weeks, Erica’s been drawing a small, blond girl lost in the deep, dark woods. And every week it gets darker and darker on her canvas, soon to swallow the young girl whole. He’ll have to center his group discussion later on feelings of hopelessness again, and find out what medications she’s been taking lately.

Steve stops at Vernon’s painting. Vernon was a medic in Afghanistan, wounded when a bomb was targeted at the combat support hospital he was working in exploded. He lost his right leg and has a carbon fiber prosthetic.

It’s taken Steve nearly a year to get him to say anything more than “Hello” to him. And nearly as long for him to even pick up a pencil to draw something. But there’s a big fiery blaze taking up his canvas, with small, black bodies lying lifelessly at the its edge.

Tears run like water down Vernon’s face. Steve squeezes his shoulder, letting him know he’s there. “This is good, Vernon. Keep painting.”

Vernon simply nods and continues to add bright hues of yellow and orange to the blazing fire on the stretched fabric.

“Knock, knock.”

Steve turns his attention to the door-- Natasha. Dressed in overalls and an old T-shirt. She smiles nervously at him.

He crosses the room to her. “Hey. Everything alright,” Steve asks.

“Yeah, um… Heard this painting your feelings thing kinda helps.”

Steve smiles. He’s been hoping for a while now that Natasha would try [art therapy](http://arttherapy.org/), but he’s never wanted to pressure her, needing her to come to him. And she finally has.

He walks her over to Isaac’s empty seat and places a fresh canvas on the easel.

“What do I paint,” she asks.

“Whatever you want,” he answers, taking a seat at his own easel.

“What if I want to paint rainbows and kittens?”

“Then paint that.”

“What if I want to paint a mountain of dead bodies with me standing on top like a god?”

“Whatever you want, Nat.”

She stares at the canvas. Eyes narrow, thinking. “…What if I want to paint that time you, me, and Bucky threeway kissed,” she teases.

Steve is speechless, catching the bashful smirks of his other patients.

“Guess it’s not a good idea to paint that, huh?” She winks at him.

He can’t help but roll his eyes at her teasing. It’s her defense mechanism, but still, he’d have liked if none of his patients new about one, drunken New Year’s Eve kiss that happened almost 4 years ago.

Natasha picks up a paint brush, dipping it into the cobalt blue paint in front of her.

She holds it up to the fabric, just a hair’s breadth of contact… Her hand shakes. Her eyes search the blank, white void in front of her. Looking for…something.

Steve can see she’s becoming frustrated, confused. He softly touches her hand, bringing it back toward the palette.

“It’ll come to you. Don’t force it. And don’t hold back when it does. Take a breath. Then another one. And paint when you’re ready.”

“...What if nothing comes to me? What if something does, and I’m too afraid to paint it? To see it?”

“Then you come back. Everyday. Until you finally feel like you can,” Vernon tells her.

It’s the most Vernon’s ever said, and just so happens to be the very thing someone just like Natasha needs to hear.

Steve nods agreeing with him.

Natasha sits her paintbrush in the jar of water beside her, watching the swirls of vibrant blue change the water from crystal clear to lapis.

She sits back, arms folded, staring at her canvas. Not waiting, but hoping.

“You can listen to music if you want,” Steve tells her.

“No. That’s okay. I like the quiet.”

“Me, too,” Vernon says.

Natasha smiles.

Peace is rarely found with people like them. The little they get is more than cherished. It’s nice being around others who get that.

»»»

Bucky’s at [The Howling Commandos](http://afflante.com/7567-rybai-restaurant-in-st-petersburg-nograf/) today. The Red Room is his most problematic and least profitable restaurant, so he’s been spending most of his time there within the last few months. But after last night’s hysterics, Bucky needs a break, and decided his first restaurant’s relaxed atmosphere is what he needs presently.

He’s helping a busboy fill the peppers on the empty tables when Tony Stark walks in holding a gift wrapped in light blue paper and tied with a pink and white polka dot bow.

“Barnes,” Tony shouts across the moderately busy restaurant.

“Jesus Christ,” Bucky mumbles under his breath. He gives a short wave and Tony stalks over.

Bucky doesn’t hate Tony. He just doesn’t like him.

He doesn’t like that he flaunts his wealth, makes jokes at the most inappropriate of times, drinks like a fish, spoils his daughter rotten, and has a God Complex just because he’s an inventor and engineer.

And Bucky definitely doesn’t like that Tony and Steve slept together before he and Steve met. _"A gigantic mistake,"_ according to Steve, _"brought on by tons of alcohol"_ and Steve’s weak emotional state after having finally broken up with Brock once and for all.

Something Tony continually makes jokes about to Bucky, calling Steve, “the one that got away,” or referring to him as “ _our_ husband.”

“What can I do for you,” Bucky asks, sounding exhausted by Tony already.

Tony whistles, looking around the place. “Whoa. This place on life support, too? It is practically empty in here, huh, Barnes?”

He also hates how Tony calls him Barnes.

“It’s 11AM on a Monday, Tony. How busy do you expect a steakhouse to be this early,” Bucky grimaces at him.

“Right. Maybe you should open only for dinner like you do with The Red Room and Marvel.”

He also hates Tony’s “business advice.”

“Tony. You needed something?”

Tony takes a seat at the table Bucky is currently refilling condiments at. “New York strip. Medium rare. Asparagus. Baked potato, all the fixins; don’t skimp on the bacon, and a nice big glass of cabernet. Oh, but bring out an ice cold glass of water with lemon first, and those biscuits with the homemade [apple butter](http://www.myrecipes.com/recipe/slow-cooker-apple-butter)! Those are so good.”

He smiles big and wide like a kid on Christmas morning.

“First, tell me what you’re doing here,” Bucky insists, because there’s a hundred other steakhouses Tony could be having lunch at today, but for some reason he’s chosen to come and bug Bucky.

Tony rolls his eyes and slides the gift across the table to Bucky. There’s a card on it that reads: **For Sarah. Love, Uncle Tony**. He even drew crooked, little hearts on it.

“What’s this?”

“Just a little something I saw and thought Sarah might like it.”

“Why’d you buy her a gift?”

“I just told you. So, apple butter biscuits now?”

“She doesn’t need gifts, Tony.”

“You’re insane. She’s a sweet, little angel; therefore, she needs as many gifts as she can be given.”

Bucky stands. “Tony, look, this was very nice of you, and I can only imagine what’s in here—”

“It’s a [Disney StoryLight](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wwwPFt4JuUM) and an iPad.”

“I have an iPad!”

“And now she has her own. Can you make sure the biscuits are really light? They looked almost burnt the last time I was here. I still ate them, but I prefer them light and fluffy.”

“Tony. You can not buy my children expensive gifts like this.”

“I buy everyone’s children expensive gifts: Thor’s kid, Clint’s horde of monsters, and Lang’s weirdo daughter. I’m telling you, that girl has _The Craft_ written all over her. Lang needs to invest in black eyeliner and emo music the moment she hits sixteen. Anyway, apple butter—”

“Tony, I’m not accepting this gift.”

Tony stares at him intently. Leaning back into the plaid cushioning, taking a breath. He spreads his arms along the back of the seat. “Well, it’s not yours to accept or reject. It’s Sarah’s.”

“She’s my child, my daughter, and I am. Thank you, but no thank you.”

Tony glares at Bucky. Bucky remains resolute, holding his stare.

“What’s your deal, Barnes?”

“Don’t know what you mean.”

“I mean, it’s just a goddamn gift. An act of generosity. For a child. Your child. Why are you being a colossal asshole? This about the fact that me and Rogers used to dirty the sheets together?”

Annnnd Bucky’s officially done. “Alright, Tony. That’s it. Take your bribery and get the fuck out of my restaurant,” Bucky snaps.

“’Bribery’? How am I bribing a 7 year old?”

“I’m sorry. Bribery is the wrong word. I meant extortion,” Bucky quips.

“It’s not extortion.”

“Then why would you buy my daughter almost five hundred dollars’ worth in gifts?”

“Because I fucking felt like it, Barnes! How ‘bout that?”

Bucky flings the gift across the table toward Tony. “No, thank you, Tony.”

Tony glares daggers at him, twisting his wedding band around his finger and grinding his teeth.

Bucky ignores him, grabbing the salt and pepper containers and a dish rag off the table. He knocks the access salt and pepper off with his rag then turns away from Tony—

“You think you’re a better parent than me.”

Bucky stops. This is not the how expected his day to go at all. And this is definitely not a conversation he ever expected to have with Tony Stark.

“You do,” Tony continues. “You think you and Rogers are better fathers than I am.”

“I never said that, Tony.”

“Yes, you did. That’s what this whole damn thing is about. You’ve been saying it since I told you this gift is for Sarah. You don’t want to give it to her because you think it’ll spoil her…like my daughter. Maria’s a selfish, spoiled brat who has me wrapped around her little finger, and you don’t want Sarah turning into her.”

That’s exactly it, but Bucky would never dare to call another man a terrible father, or necessarily make him feel like one. Yet, it seems he’s already done that...

“That’s it, isn’t it?” Tony stands. “And you know what you’re right. Maria is a goddamn terror, and it’s my fault she’s like that. I spoil her, I don’t discipline her, and I let her call all the shots. That’s not news to me, Barnes. I’m aware of these things because I do them on purpose.”

Bucky snorts. He can’t help it. Sounds too much like bullshit to him.

Tony chuckles wryly at Bucky’s audacity. “My father was kind of a dick to me as a child, but it hurt nonetheless when he and my mother were murdered when I was a kid. And I guess you can say because of all that I grew up to be a bit of an asshole. The kind of asshole most women don’t care to be around for long. So, I thought I’d never get married and have a family. I was perfectly content with just sleeping around and drinking like a fish…”

“But then Pepper came along, and yeah, we fight like cats and dogs but that woman…that woman is the center of my fucking universe. Just like Steve is yours. And the only thing bigger than that is this kid we have. So, yes, I let her get away with murder, and I give her whatever she asks for without question, but only because I never thought there would be a day when some sweet little voice calls me ‘daddy’. And maybe because the old man that raised me wasn’t so great. Maybe I’m trying to fix what he broke. Even though I’m sure you think I’m doing the opposite, making things worse.”

“I know you love your daughter, Tony. You don’t need to make a pretty speech telling me that you do. I see that,” Bucky says. He does. He honestly does. He knows Tony would go through literal hell for Pepper, so he can’t imagine what the man would do for Maria.

“But I don’t want to raise Sarah and Joey like you raise Maria. To you it’s just a gift, but to me that’s how things start. It’s nice of you, Tony. Really. But no. Sarah needs to learn that good things, rewards, are earned. Not given without effort.”

“ _She did earn it_ ,” Tony snaps loudly, taking Bucky by surprise. “She did…”

There’s tears forming in Tony’s eyes that he fights back, and Bucky turns curious, and nervous, about what exactly is bouncing around inside Tony Stark’s head at the moment.

“…Maria may be perfect to me…but I know she’s not to others. That’s my doing. I made her…intolerable to other kids. Those kids, at her birthday party, they’re the daughters of my bio lab and tech team. Maria’s never met them before.”

Bucky's mind quickly searches through the memories of Maria's birthday party. He can't exactly recall her spending time with any other child but his. But Sarah.

“Thor’s son, Clint’s kids, and Lang’s strange but adorable daughter, pretty much run and hide when she’s around. But not Sarah,” Tony’s voice cracks. “Sarah’s her only real friend…and I know even she doesn’t like hanging around my girl all that much.”

“…So that’s what this gift is about? You don’t want Sarah to stop being Maria’s friend,” Bucky asks.

“Bribery and extortion, like you said… I don’t want to deprive my kid of one of the best things in this miserable world just because I won’t say ‘no’ to her. She should have friends, Barnes. Good friends, like your daughter.” Tony wipes a stray tear from his eye.

Bucky sighs. Definitely not how he thought this day would go… “Goddamit,” he grumbles. Tony Stark has a heart…and it’s annoying.

“I’m not going to force Sarah to be friends with someone she doesn’t want to be friends with, and I’m not giving her this gift…but maybe, you can bring Maria by over the weekend, for a sleepover or something. I make these chocolate dipped peanut butter bananas Sarah and her friends from crafts club like a lot, so…” Bucky shrugs, sounding nonchalant as he throws Tony a bone.

Tony stares at him a moment. A blank expression on his usually open face.

“Tony…?”

“Could we possibly do it at my house? I’ve got that [life-size dollhouse](http://www.wayfair.com/Little-Cottage-Company-Victorian-8x8-Playhouse-8x8-VP-WPNK-L3681-K~LCC1153.html?refid=GX111172164746-LCC1153&device=c&ptid=193214726684&gclid=CjwKEAjwxeq9BRDDh4_MheOnvAESJABZ4VTqhiSxjJW8_qxJNpYErFNbB56dgfzkh3LHdtf_d4QexxoC4TPw_wcB) Maria wanted for Christmas, and she needs her allergen-free pillow, otherwise she can’t sleep—”

“Jesus, Stark!”

“You know what, its fine. She can bring the pillow. It’s cool. When do you want to set this up?”

“Uh…” Bucky, to be quite honest, was making a polite, empty gesture. He should have known there was no such thing with Tony Stark.

Tony whips out his phone, scrolling through his calendar. “You said this weekend, right? Thursday?”

“That’s a school night, Tony. It has to be either Friday or Saturday night. Not Sunday because the girls have school in the morning.”

“Right, right right… Tell you what, I’ll move some stuff around, no big deal, and get back to you later tonight.”

Bucky shrugs. Guess he's doing this...“Okay. Sounds like a plan.”

“Good. Good talk.” Tony gives the table two quick pounds of his fist, smiling happily.

“You sure about that,” Bucky asks.

“Well, neither us took a swing at the other so, yeah.”

“That’s setting the bar pretty low,” Bucky tells him.

“For us that’s like putting the bar on the Empire State Building. Some real progress was made here today, Barnes.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “If you say so.”

“I do. I also say biscuits and apple butter are needed in celebration.”

“How very sentimental of you, Tony, but I’m going to have to say ‘no’.”

“More biscuits for me then.”

“No biscuits for you actually. Enjoy the rest of your afternoon, Mr. Stark,” Bucky says, giving Tony a little salute.

“Wait. Are you serious, Barnes?”

“As a heart attack.”

Tony scoffs. “I’m a silent partner in one of your restaurants you know.”

“But not this one,” Bucky smirks, before heading toward the kitchen, leaving a slack-jawed Tony behind him. “I’m not one of your peons; coercion doesn’t work on me,” he says over his shoulder.

“Low blow, Barnes! Low blow.”

Bucky can hear the smirk in his voice despite the obnoxious yelling across the restaurant.

Another conversation for another day he figures…

»»»

“Oh, God, Bucky!”

Bucky has Steve pinned atop his paint-splattered workbench. Steve’s legs are wrapped around Bucky’s, with his T-shirt rucked up to his underarms as Bucky sucks hard on his right nipple.

Steve’s torn between pushing Bucky away and digging his nails into his scalp to keep him exactly where he is. It’s too much. Too goddamn much as he squirms and shudders atop the cool granite of the table.

Bucky lightly draws his nails down Steve’s back.

“Oh, shit,” Steve whimpers, almost in tears. There’s a lot of things Bucky does to him that Steve can take, but this, sucking on his tits… Bucky _knows_ what this does to Steve. How it tears him apart and turns him into a simpering mess.

Bucky’s tongue draws a line across his chest to his other nipple. His flicks it rapidly with the tip of his tongue, pinching the wet disc he just abandoned at the same time.

Steve’s shaking. Tears form at the corner of his eyes. His cock is throbbing. His tries to free it from his sweatpants, tugging at the waistband, but Bucky snatches his hand, pinning it to the table top.

“ _Bucky, please_ ,” Steve screams.

He can feel the smug bastard smirk against his tits.

Bucky closes his mouth around Steve’s nipple, lightly worrying it between his teeth. And that’s it. That’s all it takes before Steve’s trembling with tears falling from his eyes, whining like a toddler, as he comes in fast, hot rivulets in his pants.

He deflates against the table with a wrecked, embarrassing sob.

The hazy blur of an Earth-shattering orgasm dissipates just enough for the scrape of wood along the floor to be heard in Steve’s ears. Bucky climbs atop a one-step stool before Steve and hurriedly pulls down his cum-stained sweatpants, exposing his spent cock to the cold air in the room. He’s wet, with a ribbon of thick cum webbing between the head of his dick and his contracting abs.

Bucky unzips his jeans and takes his cock out. “Open your mouth.”

Steve, still depleted within a sex fog, manages to part his lips just enough for Bucky to moisten his fingers on his tongue. He slips them into the small puddle of cum on Steve’s stomach as well, and takes his cock into his moist hand.

“Fuck. I love doing that to you,” he says, stripping his dick over Steve’s torso. “You lose it so quick when I do, and it’s so goddamn pretty, baby.”

“Bucky…”

“Oh, fuck, Steve!” Bucky comes in long ropes over Steve’s stomach and chest, stopping short of collapsing on him entirely, braced by a hand at Steve’s head, gripping the edge of the table.

“Christ… I love you.”

“I hate you.”

Bucky huffs a small laugh into Steve’s hair. He kisses his sweaty temple. “I know.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tuesday to Friday

**TUESDAY**

 

“What about the red-haired girl down the street? What’s her name Annabelle or something,” Bucky asks.

“Adelaide,” Steve corrects. “And she’s 13 years old, Buck. Probably in school right now. Two reasons why I would never let her baby-sit anyway.”

Their regular babysitter, Darcy, got chicken pox from Thor’s son (and her nephew), Mikko, and had to cancel early this morning. Just as Bucky was getting up to shower and head to the fish market for the salmon he needed for his third restaurant, [Marvel](http://www.juviamiami.com/).

“What about—”

“Bucky, no! You know how I feel about strangers watching the kids. The only person I trust— aside from our close friends— to watch Sarah and Joey is Darcy, and unfortunately she’s home sick for a few days. So, no daycares, no 13 year old girls, no nice old ladies from across the street— no one watching our children but you.”

Bucky mixes around the chopped fruit he puts in Joey’s oatmeal and sets it in front of him at his highchair. Joey picks up the small, plastic spoon and starts feeding himself.

“Steve. I have not shown my face at Marvel for almost 5 weeks, and they need salmon. I have to go get it myself at the fish market because if I let T’Challa do it he’ll get ripped off by Darren.”

“Well, then I guess this can be a life lesson for T’Challa on how to haggle,” Steve says with a smile. He grabs Sarah’s pink lunch box out of the fridge. “Sarah Liberty Barnes, get off the computer! It’s time to go,” Steve shouts into the ether.

Sarah rushes downstairs with her backpack into the kitchen. She grabs an apple and takes a big bite.

“My sisters,” Bucky exclaims, snapping his fingers like he’s a genius.

“Your sisters? Which one? Rebecca, who lives upstate in Rochester, Grace, who's doing a field study in Antarctica, or Frankie, who's currently living at an [ashram](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ashram) in Ojai?”

Bucky visibly deflates. Yeah, even he knows that was a stupid one.

Steve clasps his hands on Bucky’s shoulders. “Buck. I know you really want to go to work today, but you can’t. I’d stay home in your place if I could, but like I already told you seven times, I can’t. Suck it up.” Steve pecks him. “You have to pick Sarah up from school at three. Don’t forget the dry cleaning and Joey’s doctor appointment at one. I love you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky pouts.

“Try to act like taking care of your children isn’t a burden for me please.”

“Hey! You know that’s not it, Steve!”

It’s not. Bucky loves being home with the kids. He’s there more often than Steve is during the week, but with The Red Room’s issues as of late, he’s been feeling as though he hasn’t given enough attention (re: micromanagement) to his other, more profitable restaurants. Particularly Marvel, in which Tony is a silent partner.

He wishes they didn’t need Darcy and he could be at home all day with Sarah and Joey, but he’s a chef and restaurateur with three businesses that occasionally make him want to tear his hair out. And sadly they tend to demand his attention more often than he’d like.

“I know. I’m picking on you,” Steve tells him, leaning in with his lips just a hair’s breadth from Bucky’s own mouth. “Kiss me ‘goodbye’.”

Bucky gives him a slow, sweet kiss that leaves Steve a bit weak in the knees.

“Thinking about last night,” Bucky teases.

“You’re a menace, and our children are watching.”

Buck grins and gives Steve a quick peck. “Go.”

Steve scoops up their daughter and his satchel in his arms. Bucky gives Sarah a kiss on her cheek and shoots Steve a wink before watching them head out the front door.

“Well, it’s just you and me, kid,” Bucky says, turning to his son…who’s covered in oatmeal from his forehead to his chest. He gives Bucky a big silly grin, and in that moment everything else fades away as Bucky’s heart melts.

“Good oatmeal, bud?”

Joey smiles, sucking mush off the two fingers in his mouth.

Bucky laughs, making a goofy face at him as the toddler screams with laughter when Bucky runs his fingers up and down his sides, tickling him.

Maybe Darcy’s chicken pox isn’t such a burden after all.

»»»

“He’s just quiet. He talks, and answers questions when we ask him. He’s shy and doesn’t like big crowds and strangers. They make him nervous so he clams up, you know? But he talks. He talks to me, Steve, his sister—”

“Bucky. Bucky. Calm down. I was only asking if he’s talking more. I know he’s a shy, quiet kid,” Dr. Banner says, attempting to alleviate Bucky’s panic of defense.

Bucky nods. “Right. Sorry. I didn’t mean to get defensive. He’s my son and I thought you meant something was wrong. That we were doing something wrong with him… I know you’re a doctor and you’re supposed to ask these questions,” Bucky responds, taking a breath.

“That’s all I’m doing,” Dr. Banner assures.

“Right. Sorry.”

“Don’t have to apologize. You’re not the first parent to get a little touchy. You’re not even the one thousandth. Shows you care and you’re concerned.”

“Thanks, doc.”

“It’s okay. Now, how’s the potty training?”

“It’s good. He’s doing great with it. He uses the little potty we got him and washes his hands when he’s done, like a good boy.” Bucky kisses the top of Joey’s head. The 3 year old is sitting atop the [exam table](http://www.davisdesign.com/images/portfolio/healthcare/horn/horn6.jpg), fiddling with Dr. Banner’s stethoscope around his neck.

“Is he going often?”

“Not an abnormal amount, no.”

“Is he eating a lot of vegetables?”

“Him? Definitely. It’s Sarah you got to fight with about her broccoli and peas. And we don’t let them have soda or juice. Except for orange juice. Other than that they drink water or milk.”

Dr. Banner nods. “Good.” He makes a few notes in Joey’s chart. “His weight is good. So are his eyes and ears. You said he sleeps soundly through the night, and he’s relieving himself functionally. All in all, he seems in good health, Buck.”

Bucky lets out a relieved sigh. He didn’t even know he was holding his breath.

“You said a playmate of his has the chicken pox though, right?” Dr. Banner checks the chart again. “Okay, well, he’s not due to be vaccinated for it until October of next year, so in the meantime, lets try to steer clear of any kids he may come in contact with that do have it.”

Bucky nods. “Okay. His babysitter, Darcy, she got it from Mikko. Thor’s son.”

“Okay, well, then let’s make sure Darcy is at 100% before she starts watching the kids again, alright?”

“Of course.”

“Okay. Perfect. You, Mr. Joseph George Barnes, are free to go. But first…” Dr. Banner pulls a lollipop from his pocket and hands it over to Joey.

“What do you say, bud?”

“Thank you,” Joey says with a bright smile.

“You’re welcome. My pleasure. Any questions for me, dad, before our visit is over?”

“Um, yeah… Sort of… Did-Did you break up with Natasha,” Bucky asks nervously. He’s being nosy, and while Bruce is at work, but Natasha’s a friend, and he’d like to know why the good doctor ended their relationship.

“Bucky—”

“I know. I know this conversation is inappropriate, but I love Nat, and I love you and Nat together. She likes you, a lot. More than I’ve seen her give most guys the time of day, and she’s been a little down since you two, like, took a break or something. So, I just wanted to remind you that she’s a great girl, little rough around the edges, but great nonetheless, and you should reconsider…whatever’s going on right now between you guys. That’s it. That’s my speech and the end of me being a busybody.”

“Bucky… I’m glad you care this much about your friend. I’m glad you care this much about me with your friend, and she is a great girl. A fantastic girl, but… She has a lot to work through. I can’t imagine what fighting in the Middle East was like for her, what it did to her, but I do know that I can’t… I can’t pursue anything further with Natasha until she works through what she needs to work through.”

“…You don’t think you should be there to help her work through her PTSD,” Bucky asks. He knows Natasha and Bruce have only been dating for 5 months, and though they’re committed, he knows they’re not _that_ committed yet. They’re not he and Steve, or Thor and Jane.

“No. It has to be about her, and I’ll only distract her. She can’t open up with me hanging around. She doesn’t want me to see her like that, so she won’t heal the way she needs to.”

Bucky loves that Bruce is such a smart, caring guy. He selfishly hopes he’s still around when Natasha starts to get better, however long it takes.

He gets what he means though. Natasha hates showing signs of weakness. She hates people worrying about her, fawning over her. Pitying her. So she hides. She buries all that pain and sadness. With Bruce around she won’t let her guard down. She won’t be able to heal. So, yeah. They need to let each other go for a while.

“You’re a good guy, Bruce.”

“Nah. Not really. But thanks.”

He’s just being modest. Or maybe he really doesn’t see that he is. Either way, Bucky’s going to miss seeing him around outside his office.

»»»

“P-T-E-R-O-D-A-C-T-Y-L-U-S,” Sarah spells.

“Correct, miss. You, are going to ace this spelling test. Kick it right in the ass,” Bucky smiles, cutting a fresh peach into slices. She giggles at his swearing.

The doorbell rings.

Bucky throws the peach pit into the sink and divides the peach slices in half after stealing one and popping it into his mouth. “Share with your brother.”

Sarah grabs the plate of fruit and hops down from the bar stools at the island as Bucky moves to answer the door. She disappears down the hall to the playroom.

Bucky swings the door open— “Are you fucking kidding me…?”

“Um…hey.”

Bucky pushes himself outside, leaving the door slightly ajar. “What in the name of fuck are you doing on my porch, Rumlow,” Bucky asks in tight-lipped anger. “Why do you even know where I live? This is a fucking violation of your goddamn restraining order.”

“I know. I just… Can we talk?”

“You’re not serious.”

“I don’t mean to show up at your house like this, but I’m doing this recovery thing—”

“I don’t give a shit. I really don’t. Fuck the cops. Get off my porch before I finally do what Steve never let me do.”

“Bucky, look—”

“My kids. You’re on my property, outside my house, with my kids around. I am going to crucify you.” Bucky is just itching for a fight. He’s been dying to beat the hell out of Brock Rumlow for a long time now, and he finally has a reason. “Do you know what the [Castle Doctrine](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Castle_doctrine) is?”

Brock backs up, hands up, palms open. Yeah, he knows what it is. “I’m not looking to start shit. I just wanted to apologize for all the things you guys went through when I was messed up.”

“I don’t care if you had a split personality, or an evil twin that was actually the one tormenting me and Steve for 6 months, and to be honest, after all the crazy shit you dragged us through, I kind of don’t care about your PTSD and alcoholism, Brock. You put your gigantic ape paws on my husband, more than once. You threaten to rape my sister. You broke into my apartment and defecated in the middle of my bed, you fucking psycho! All because I started dating Steve after he dumped you? And now, you’re at my house, just a few steps away from my kids.”

Bucky steps closer to Brock, right in his face. “Crawl back under whatever rock you’ve slithered from, and never show your face here again. Or I will take the greatest amount of pleasure in hurting you.”

He means it. He means it with every fiber of his being. He’d kill Brock right now if he could.

“I’m trying to right my wrongs; repair some of the damage, you asshole.”

“You’re trying to ease your weak conscience, and like I said: I really don’t care.”

They sneer at one another, faces close enough to bump noses.

“Kills you I had him first, doesn’t it, Barnes,” Brock derides.

“Why. Are. You. Still. Here?”

Brock slowly takes a step back. He glares at Bucky as he steps off the porch, turning down the walkway toward his car, an obnoxious black [Hummer](http://teucy.com/27177/hummer-h2-black-best-car/) parked at the curb.

Bucky scowls, grinding his teeth, as he watches Brock turn the engine over and pull away from the house and down the street. His license plate reads: XBONEZ.

“Piece of shit.”

Buck turns into the house and finds his phone on the coffee table in the living room. He texts Steve:

 **Bucky** : Come straight home!  
**Bucky** : RUMLOW.

He sends a group text to Natasha and Sam:

 **Bucky** : RUMLOW.  
**Bucky** : Steve still at work. Watch his 6.

 **Sam** : On my way.  
**Natasha** : I’m here already.  
**Natasha** : Got his back.  
**Bucky** : Thanks.

Then he calls the police.

»»»

It’s nearly 2AM when Bucky realizes Steve’s not in bed.

He pulls the covers back and staggers from the room. It’s dark in the art studio from where he can see on the second floor, so there’s only one other place he could be.

Bucky gently swings open the bedroom door to [Joey’s room](http://www.potterybarnkids.com/products/pirate-bed/). Steve sits in the dark, a cast of warm light on his face from the nightlight beside him. He's quietly on the floor, watching their son sleep peacefully.

Bucky joins him.

“This is my fault,” Steve says, staring at their son, voice low as to not wake him.

“Don’t do that, Steve.”

“It is. A thousand times over it’s my fault.”

“Steve. You dated a guy who had a lot of problems you thought you could fix, and when you realized you couldn’t, you left. It’s not your doing that he went psychotic when you bailed.”

“…I lied to him…and you. I made it worse. I screwed up and that’s why he’s been the way he is since.”

“What are you talking about Stevie? Lied about what?”

“Please don’t be mad, Buck.” Steve’s eyes are wet with tears, eclipsed in fear. He’s terrified Bucky can’t forgive him.

Bucky clasps his hand onto Steve’s, squeezing tight. He shrugs: _Tell me._

“…When we moved in together, I realized I forgot some important papers for my mom’s insurance company at Brock’s place. I still had a key, and I thought he’d be at work, but he got fired that morning— I know I shouldn’t have been there, but I needed that stuff and I didn’t want to get you anymore involved. He was home though, and we got into it, real bad, Buck. He swung at me and I pushed him, and…and I was so mad, Bucky. He was torturing us and he just wouldn’t let me go. He wouldn’t let me just be with you, in peace. So, I told him how you were everything he wasn’t, and how you make me feel, and what I wanted us to have together: a home and kids. Things I never wanted with him. And…and I was so angry at him, for everything, that I… I told him we had an affair. I told him we were seeing each other behind his back. I know I shouldn’t have said that—”

“Hey, calm down, baby,” Bucky says softly, hands cupped around Steve’s cheeks. “Look at me. I don’t give two shits if you lied to that asshole and told him we fucked each other at The Statue of Liberty on his birthday.”

Steve laughs.

“It doesn’t matter that you told a fib to him. Not after all the crap he put us through. Not after him putting his hands on you. He hurt you, so you wanted to hurt him.”

“Bucky. It’s not that simple. He lost it after I told him that.”

“He was harassing us way before then.”

“He didn’t start going after your family until I did that, Bucky! He already couldn’t let me go, and then I pretty much tell him he never had me? He was bound to snap. And all those meds he was on, mixing it with alcohol…”

“This is not your fault, Steven. And it’s the last time I’m going to say it, okay?”

Steve nods solemnly. Bucky knows he doesn’t believe him, that he still blames himself for Brock being so unhinged, but there’s nothing else to do but move forward.

“Listen. We’re going to find out how he knows where we live, why we weren’t notified that he’s moved, and we’re going to inform Sarah’s school about him, in case he shows up there.”

“Oh, Jesus, Bucky!” Steve scrubs his hands down his face at the thought of Rumlow even coming near their daughter. “No. I want Sarah to stay home tomorrow.”

“We’ll all stay home, okay? We’ll build a fort in the living room and eat junk food and watch Disney movies all day.”

Steve smiles. “That sounds more like a perfect day off for me than Sarah and Joey.”

“It’s for all of us.” Bucky leans in, kissing Steve along his neck. “And when the kids are asleep, I’ll take you upstairs, and fuck you nice and slow until you cry,” Bucky whispers in Steve’s ear. “But you have to come to bed first.”

Bucky kisses Steve on the mouth; the tiniest touch of his tongue grazing Steve’s.

“Okay, Bucky.”

Bucky could have asked Steve to rob a bank right now and he would. As long as he kept kissing him like that.

Bucky stands, extending his hand. Steve takes it, pushing off the carpeted floor. He leans down and gives Joey a soft kiss on his cheek, then lets Bucky lead him back to their room.

 

**WEDNESDAY**

 

Steve delegates his three sessions today to Maria Hill, a fellow art instructor at [Brooklyn College](http://www.brooklyn.cuny.edu/web/home.php) where they teach. She’s not a psychologist, but she is a good listener, and a no-nonsense kind of girl. He tells her he needs a personal day and begs if she wouldn’t mind taking over his Art Therapy blocks for the day.

She politely agrees, citing she only has one art class on Wednesdays, a sculpting class at 10PM, that’s pretty scarce, so she could use a filling day.

Steve calls each of his Wednesday patients and apologizes for his absence, but assures them he’ll be there the next day. Even Natasha, who he encourages to still go, despite him not being there.

Steve moves all the furniture around the [living room](http://www.houzz.com/photos/17901182/New-West-Classic-traditional-living-room-vancouver), and Sarah helps him pull chairs together to build a large blanket fort in the middle. Steve smiles the whole time, remembering Bucky proposing to him in the fort he built for Steve at their apartment in Brooklyn. He looks up catching Bucky’s eye as he makes [silver dollar pancakes](http://oggi-icandothat.blogspot.com/2013/04/silver-dollar-pancakes_25.html) in the kitchen.

Bucky winks and Steve blushes. After 7 years of marriage, Bucky still makes him turn as red as a firetruck…

Steve closes their heavy, blackout curtains and plugs in the strings of Christmas lights he fished out of the garage, hung around the room and the blanket fort.

Sarah and Joey make it all the way through _Finding Nemo_ , but conk out midway though _The Little Mermaid_ (Steve’s favorite film).

Steve and Bucky kiss lazily during “Ma Belle Evangeline” of _The Princess Frog_ , drifting off to sleep easily beside their children. Sticky syrup is all over the carpet and their hands. Joey spilled orange juice on a pillow and Sarah used another pillow to mop it up.

Steve doesn’t care. He’s home with his husband and their kids, watching Disney movies in a blanket fort. Nothing is better than this.

Nothing can ruin this.

»»»

Bucky closes his hand around Steve’s mouth. Steve grabs hard onto Bucky’s forearm as his back arches off the wall.

True to his word, Bucky fucks him, nice and slow, against the wall in their bedroom behind the door. Steve’s legs are wrapped around Bucky’s waist, with Bucky’s fingers buried deep inside him, pressing hard against his prostate.

“Daddy’s fine, peanut! Go finish your hot dogs! We’ll be down in a minute, okay,” Bucky shouts down to Sarah.

Steve was being too loud and Sarah was halfway up the stairs calling for them when Bucky put his hand over his mouth and stilled the three fingers he was working in and out of him.

“Okay,” they hear in her sweet voice, and listen as she hops down the steps.

Close.

Steve wanted to keep the door open so they could hear Sarah and Joey in case something happened, and had insisted he could be quiet, despite Bucky knowing Steve’s never quiet when they fool around; he’s noisy and responsive, which Bucky _loves_ , but knew might be a problem.

Steve yanks Bucky’s hand from his mouth. “She back downstairs?”

“Yeah.”

“Good, because I’m so close,” Steve whines. “Bucky, please,” he begs.

Bucky nearly forgot his fingers were up to the hilt inside Steve, pushing deep onto that special spot. He can feel Steve trembling against him.

“Yeah,” Bucky smirks, before pressing harder on Steve’s button. He covers his mouth again as Steve shouts into his hand and cums all over his own shirt in short, hot spurts.

Bucky turns his head into Steve’s neck as he recovers, kissing him softly on his pulsepoint and along his jawline. He takes his hand from Steve’s mouth to gently card his fingers through his blonde hair. “You almost got us caught, doll,” he says, kissing Steve right under his chin.

“Fuck my tits,” Steve says with no pretense, unwrapping his wobbly legs from Bucky. He slides his thigh between Bucky’s legs, rubbing himself against Bucky’s hard-on.

Steve’s long, and thick, about 8 inches of circumcised cock. But Bucky… Bucky’s only about 6 inches, but he’s practically a goddamn beer can.

“I want to so bad, sweetheart, but you know how I get when I do that.” If Steve can't keep quiet being fingered, then there's absolutely no way in hell Bucky can stay silent while pec fucking Steve.

Steve kisses him, wild and dirty, then drops to his knees in one fluid motion. He yanks down Bucky’s sweatpants and takes him into his mouth.

Bucky bites his lip, stifling a moan, as he braces a hand against the wall, with the other twisted in Steve’s hair as he fucks his hungry mouth. It doesn’t take long for Bucky to cum, emptying himself between Steve’s lips; he was already so close to the edge.

He pulls from out of Steve and bends down to kiss him. Steve hasn’t swallowed yet, so Bucky can taste himself as they kiss deep and messy, cum falling down their chins.

“Daddies!” Sarah, calling them from downstairs.

“You okay,” Steve asks, breaking away from their filthy kiss.

“Yes! But you’re missing the movie,” she says, like it’s not the first time they haven’t seen _The Lion King_.

“5 minutes, okay, peanut,” Bucky responds.

Steve laughs, able to hear her groan all the way up to the second floor. “She’s going to kill us.”

Bucky pulls up his sweatpants. “Then we should probably hurry and clean up.” He kisses Steve quick, then helps him to his feet.

They rush toward the adjoining bathroom.

 

**THURSDAY**

 

Mondays and Thursdays are tough. Those are Steve’s therapy sessions with fellow vets, and it never gets any easier.

Today, however, is made even worse by Steve finding out that his missing patient, Isaac, has OD’d and slipped into a coma. In addition to Natasha having an episode in the middle of session, smashing her work violently on the corner of Steve’s desk, then falling uncontrollably into tears.

He held her in his arms and she wailed into his shoulder as he received supportive stares from others in the group.

Steve’s been there. Multiple times. Punching the walls until his knuckles bled, drinking himself into a stupor, crying jags in the shower. Or locking himself into an abusive relationship with a guy he thought he could save…

Vernon calmly grabs another blank canvas and rests it on Natasha’s easel, waiting for her when she’s ready.

She sits in Steve’s lap, tucked in his arms, hiccupping as her sobs soften, and slowly, slowly fade into sniffles.

She quietly returns to her chair, sitting before the blank canvas as the rest of the group paint silently. Erica catches her eye and gives her a reassuring smile before returning her attention to her work.

Natasha doesn’t stay for the discussion afterward. She insists on going home.

Steve lets her when she promises to call him the moment she walks in the door. Nevertheless, he still sends a text to Sam, asking him to check up on her. Sam promises he will right after he’s done at the VA Hospital.

It’s not a good day.

Therefore, Steve finds himself at Gold’s Gym in the middle of the night, alone, and [beating](http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ymWKPvJak0c/T7EvJ9pA-sI/AAAAAAAABeA/3Ov0twTVfYk/s1600/tumblr_m06335jijW1qzuajeo1_500.gif) the hell out of a punching bag with his tapped fists.

He’s sweating profusely, breathing hot and hard from his nose as he pounds his knuckles on the leather. There’s too much he’s angry about. Too much running through his mind, too much he’s worried about, too damn much.

He gives the heavy bag one good body shot, feeling the heavy sand move a bit inside. He clinches his fists, taking a deep breath, closing his eyes… His sore hands come up to hug the chains hanging from the beam.

He hasn’t felt this bad in a while. He forgot what it was like. This hopelessness and anger.

“Rough day?”

Steve’s head turns to the approaching voice.

Rumlow.

“What the hell Brock?!”

“I know I overstepped my bounds going to your house—”

“You are not supposed to be anywhere near me.”

“I know. I know—”

“And then you show up at my house? When my kids are there?!”

“I would never hurt a kid, Steve,” Brock says, sternly, offended.

“Told me you would never hurt me either…”

And Brock at least has the decency to look ashamed at being called out.

“How’d you even know where I lived? How’d you even know I was here—? Know what? It doesn’t matter. You need to leave. Go!”

“I just wanted to apologize and make amends with Bucky, and he acted like I was a fucking murderer!”

“Well, you did kill our cat.”

“I didn’t kill the fucking cat! I gave it to my aunt up in Niagara Falls!” He steps closer to Steve, who takes two steps back. “Steve, look, I need you to talk to Bucky, okay? He called the cops and my P.O. and sponsor are going ape shit. I could go back to jail.”

“You violated the restraining order, and your parole, Brock.”

“Oh, come on, Steve! It’s been seven years on that a restraining order! You know that’s too much. Too long.”

“But apparently needed given your rediscovery of stalking.” Steve unwinds the tape from his hands. “I listened to you at the aquarium. I let you apologize. I don’t have to do anything else.”

“Stevie—”

“Don’t call me that. Don’t you _ever_ call me that,” Steve bites at him, thinking about the thousands of times Bucky’s called him that, sweetly and full of affection.

“Steve,” Brock starts slow and clam, “I will never bother you again. I will disappear. I will leave New York City if I can. I’ll go to Niagara Falls for fuck’s sake, please. But you gotta drop the charges against me. I’m begging. I got this new job at Hydra and I can’t lose it. It’s good pay, and I’m head of security. Come on. Please do this for me.”

Steve scoffs at the nerve. “You know, one of my best friends had a flashback today. Broke down and started wailing in the middle of a session. It’s happened before, but seeing her lose it like that, come apart…and right before I get a call from a patient’s sponsor, telling me he’s in a coma. You’re right, Brock: it’s been a rough day. And then you come in here, asking me for a favor, to help you out? You? The last person I should ever lend a hand to.”

Steve massages his bruised knuckles.

“I got what you were going through. I was right there with you. Something you seemed to forget whenever you were drunk, or just plain angry and hit me. I was going through the same thing, but I never hurt you. I tried to help you. Wanted to help you. You were supposed to do the same for me. As a friend, as a soldier, and as my damn boyfriend!”

“…Never heard you swear before.”

“Well, that’s how pissed I am! You don’t get to do this! How dare you ask me for something!” Steve walks over to the boxing ring and snatches his gym bag off the floor. “The answer is no. You made your bed, now lie in it.” Steve heads for the exit--

“You self-righteous hypocrite.”

Steve stops in his tracks. “What did you say?”

“You have the balls to stand there and tell me I don’t deserve forgiveness, that I haven’t earned the right, in your eyes, to move forward, to put the past behind me, make myself a better man. What kind of therapist are you?”

Steve drops his bag and stalks right up Brock. “Don’t you ever question my job. I love what I do, and I’m as good at it as I can get.”

“Not if one of your patients goes all Sleeping Beauty on you,” Brocks grins evilly.

He's still just as obnoxious and cruel as he ever was. Steve can't believe he's surprised that he's not surprised. “ **Fuck you** ,” Steve sneers at him.

“You think you’re so goddamn holy, Rogers. You’re flawed like the rest of us.”

“Don’t I know it,” he says dryly, voice a little wet, a little shaky. “But I at least know not to take my flaws out on other people.”

Brock steps right in Steve’s personal bubble. “And what do you call fucking Barnes while we were together, huh?”

Steve scoffs at him. “I never slept with Bucky. I only told you that because you broke into his apartment and relieved yourself on his bed like a feral animal. I told you that to hurt you. But here’s a bit a truth you can swallow: everything else I said is true. He is twice the man you are. He’s smart, he’s beautiful, and his cock feels incredible every time I take it.”

Steve sees it before Brock even raises his fist. He weaves then jabs, punching his ex dead center of his face!

Brock hits the wood floor, knocked out cold.

Steve stretches his stinging fingers and sighs. “...Should’ve done that a long time ago, I guess.”

He grabs his gym bag, takes out his cellphone, and calls the police.

»»»

Steve walks through the [side door](http://www.houzz.com/photos/17901132/New-West-Classic-traditional-entry-vancouver) and Bucky is immediately on him, barreling through the hall.

“It’s one in the morning! Where the hell were you? I’ve been calling you!”

Steve’s beat. All he wants to do is take a quick shower and crumble into bed with Bucky beside him. “One of my patients overdosed. I went to visit him at Bellevue. Me and his sponsor stayed with him until his mom got there from New Haven.” He tosses his keys in the key bowl. “And before that I had another patient break down in the middle of a session.”

Bucky doesn’t know Natasha started attending art therapy. It’s not his business to share that with him. He’s a licensed psychiatrist. He’d never violate his doctor/patient confidentiality. Nor the shared, sacred trust he has with one of his best friends.

She did call him, however, when she got home, as promised. She apologized for “disrupting” therapy, and Steve refused her apology, telling her never to be sorry for how she feels, and how she expresses her feelings. She's been through a lot, and she's kept it all inside for so long. What happened today was good. She’ll see that soon enough.

They both will.

“Jesus, Stevie.” Bucky grabs him by his shirt and pulls him close for a hug. And it’s all Steve’s wanted for the last 4 hours.

“I went to Gold’s, to blow off some steam. I didn’t want to come home like that.”

Bucky pulls away, looking into his husband’s cerulean blue eyes. “I don’t care if you’re a mountain of rage, you come home, Steven. And we’ll deal with it together, like we’re supposed to, baby.”

How could he have ever been with Brock? How could he have ever thought he loved him? That they loved each other? Brock wanted everything from Steve and gave nothing in return. And Steve had his faults, too. He wanted reciprocation from a man he knew was too selfish to give it. He started a relationship with someone just as broken and damaged as him, thinking, hoping, they’d fix each other, rather than starting it because he loved him. Or even liked him.

For a time there, Steve thought he deserved Brock and his cruelty; for using him, weighing all his burdens so heavily on him. For needing him too much. For pretending to love a man he knew he never could.

But it was never any of that with Bucky. He saw Bucky and wanted him. Needed him. Loved him the minute they laid eyes on each other. And Bucky’s done nothing but hold him close, protect him, and listen, since the beginning.

“…Brock showed up at the gym. I was at the police station for 2 ½ hours. That’s why I didn’t answer my phone. Sorry.”

Bucky backs up, shaking with white, hot anger. He paces like a caged animal along the foyer, scrubbing his hands up and down his face, tighten his fists into pale knuckles.

He stops finally, gaining some small sense of composure after a minute or two. “Did he hit you? And do not, _not_ , lie to me.”

“He tried, but I put him on the ground before he could. Then I called the cops.”

“I am _seething_ right now,” Bucky spits through gritted teeth.

He knows. He’s never seen Bucky this angry. So full of visceral hatred for one human being. Except when Brock stole their cat, that also happened to be Bucky’s [emotional support animal](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Emotional_support_animal) at the time.

“I know. But it’s over, okay?”

Bucky shakes his head. “I should have been there. You should have called me.”

“Bucky, it doesn’t matter anymore. Brock’s arrested and going back to jail. I stood up to him and now he’ll no longer be an problem.”

“Steve--”

Steve grabs hold of Bucky, framing his face with his large hands, so he has his complete attention. “Done. It's done. And right now I just want to crawl into bed with you and fall asleep in your arms. Tomorrow’s a new day and I want a do-over. Please.”

Bucky takes a deep breath.

Several deep breaths, head tilted to the ceiling, eyes closed. In…and out… In… Out… Bucky’s head slowly rolls down. His fists unclench. His eyes open, landing on Steve… He reaches behind Steve and locks the door.

He kisses Steve’s temple, then hugs him, tight, squeezing the life out him, then takes his hand.

Steve follows behind him.

“You want French toast in the morning?”

Steve smiles. “Eggs Benedict.”

“Eggs Benedict it is.”

 

**FRIDAY**

 

Bucky is going to kill Tony. The man can’t make anything simple. Not even a sleepover.

“Tony, we can’t do this,” he tells the billionaire.

“What? Why? Look at these girls. They’re having the best time,” Tony whines.

Just then, Scott’s daughter, [Cassie](http://vignette1.wikia.nocookie.net/marvelmovies/images/6/6e/Abby_Ryder_Fortson.jpg/revision/latest?cb=20150717101656), knocks over a very expensive-looking vase, as she’s chasing Sarah around the room. Both girls freeze with terrified looks on their innocent faces.

“S’okay girls. Mr. Stark owns the hotel. Break anything you want,” Tony tells them.

“No—” Bucky tries to counter, but the two girls laugh loudly and run off into the front room of the [suite](https://www.cosmopolitanlasvegas.com/accommodation/two-bedroom-city-suite), overjoyed with Tony’s permission to run ramped.

“Stark--”

“Last names. Must be serious,” Tony chuckles nervously. He stops at Bucky’s hard glare.

Bucky knows Tony just wants this to go well. He wants Maria to have friends and be liked, so he’s doing all he can to assure that’ll happen, but in his good-hearted attempt, he’s still being his reckless self.

Bucky decides to try a softer, kinder approach. “Tony. This is really nice. Awesome in fact. The girls are having a good time. But we said a simple sleepover with blanket forts and s’mores. It was supposed to be a chance for Maria to spend some time with Sarah and get to know some of her friends. Not take over a luxury hotel suite with an ice cream station, cupcake table, popcorn bar, and cotton candy machine. Not to mention the cater waiter passing around tacos and pigs in a blanket.”

“…It’s not just the suite but the whole floor.”

Bucky closes his eyes and counts to three… He makes it to five.

“Okay, Barnes, look, I know I went overboard, but I really, _really_ wanted this to work out for Maria and Sarah.” He leans in close to Bucky, whispering, “I actually don’t give a flying you-know-what about the rest of these girls, as adorable as they may be. I care about building a strong foundation between our daughters. Maria is crazy about your Sarah and she’s afraid she likes these other girls more than her.”

“We talked about your attempts are bribing my child.”

“I know, but you and Steve are her fathers, so she’s probably not even susceptible to a bribe. I bet her moral compass is always pointed North. It's incredibly irritating.”

“Do you really want Sarah and Maria to be friends like this, or do you want them to get to know and like each other for who they really are?”

“…I’m honest to God not picky about it.”

Bucky huffs, eyes at the ceiling, praying for strength. “Stark, I’ve had a really trying week and I want to hit something. Don’t make it you, okay?" Bucky listens to the octet of young girls laugh loudly and run riotous as they pillow fight with one another. "I’m not going to be a dick and ruin everyone’s time. This…can continue.”

Tony fist pumps with a victorious grin on his face.

“I have to call everyone’s parents to let them know we’re here, in Manhattan, and not at my house in Jersey.”

“Oh, Pepper’s already doing that.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. Of course she is. “And they’re fine with this? I mean, these are Sarah’s friends. They don’t know Maria, or you.”

“That’s what the [puppy cams](http://www.bestbuy.com/site/petcube-camera-white-black/8884284.p?id=1219713655347&skuId=8884284&ref=212&loc=1&ksid=c48ccfe0-ed08-4d3d-a8b2-07fd624d3d79&ksprof_id=3&ksaffcode=pg113860&ksdevice=c&gclid=Cj0KEQjw6O-9BRDjhYXH2bOb8Z4BEiQAWRduk-1ld_PtKUlKQmfULiAfDzCUHLMHijLbNIDtAQCzl-caAtfr8P8HAQ) are for. I’ve got a few around the suite and in the hall outside, but not in the bathrooms. Their parents download my app— for $9.99—and they get a live feed of tonight’s festivities. Plus, I brought Jarvis.”

“You forced your housekeeper to come to a kid’s sleepover?”

“Jarvis is practically family. And has his own room down the hall next yours and Steve’s.”

“No, Tony. Someone, an _adult_ someone, has to stay in the suite with the girls. Preferably someone without a penis.”

“Which is why I’m going to bunk up with Jar-Jar while Pepper stays in here. There’s only two other rooms on this floor, but they are massive,” Tony smiles smugly.

He may not care all that much for Tony, but the love he has for his daughter, and the child-like optimism he’s radiating with this whole thing does something funny in Bucky’s chest, like a flutter.

“Tony, I am responsible for these girls. Their parents allow these sleepovers with me and Steve present because they know us and trust us.”

“I will be on my best behavior,” Tony promises.

“Is there such a thing,” Bucky snarks.

“Yup. Promised Pepper, too, and she’s a thousand times scarier than you.”

Bucky’s eyes narrow at Tony, who gives him his best puppy pout.

Bucky’s shoulder’s slump. He knows Tony wants this too much, too bad, to fuck it up. At least on purpose. “…They’re on a sugar-high— thank you for that, by the way— so they are going to crash and crash hard if we don’t get something other than milkshakes in them. We need to get them to drink some water, and distract them with an activity.”

“Oh! I got it. Charades.”

“They’re too young for that, and we don’t want them playing games. Games rile them up. We want to bring them down.”

Bucky closes his eyes and swears under his breath as the sound of something else expensive breaks.

“Sorry, Mr. Stark,” a young voice yells.

“I got it,” Steve yells back.

“Like I said, bringing them down.”

“Understood.”

“They’re in a crafts club together. We’ll make them do crafts. I’ve got paper so they can do origami, and Steve’s really good at making [sock puppets](https://www.daniellesplace.com/html/puppets.html) with them.”

“Water. Sock puppets.”

“But first we have to cut off their sugar supply, and that requires saying no and being stern. Can you do that?”

“Nope,” Tony says confidently.

“Okay. Then Steve and I will do it. Pepper can help when she’s off the phone. You in the meantime can go to Michael’s—not Hobby Lobby, because fuck them—and get art supplies.”

Bucky snatches Tony’s cellphone from his hand and types out a lists of things needed in his Notes.

“Hopefully by the time you get back we’ve got at least two glasses of water in each of them, and all that carnival food cornered off to where they can’t get to.” He hands Tony’s phone back to him.

Tony grabs his suit jacket while Bucky grabs a handful of waters from the minibar. Bucky lifts up from his squat in front of the tiny fridge with 6 bottles of Evian in his arms.

“Barnes.”

Bucky stops mid-stride toward the master bedroom where Steve has managed to wrangle the loud, giggling girls. “Yeah?”

“You’re good at this,” Tony says sincerely.

And it might be the best compliment Bucky’s ever gotten. “Thanks.”

Tony nods then heads out to the arts and crafts store.

»»»

They haven’t made out like this in forever, and Bucky doesn’t want to stop. There’s nothing better than kissing Steve, and it’s been longer than he remembers that they’ve gotten a chance to lose themselves in it like a couple of teenagers.

Despite their overwhelming attraction to one another in the beginning, Steve was adamant about taking things slow. _Really slow_. It was a little over two months before he allowed Bucky to even touch him below the waist. So they spent their first few dates kissing wildly on the couch like they’re doing now.

But Bucky can feel Steve’s hard erection against his own as they slot against each other. This is clearly going to lead somewhere else soon. His fingers card madly through Steve’s hair, who holds Bucky as close as possible.

“Bucky,” Steve pants, breathless.

“What do you want, doll,” Bucky asks, equally out of breath.

Bucky has no idea why he gives Steve these effeminate pet names. He only knows they started after their first kiss.

Steve sits up, getting to his knees. “Face the back of the couch. Take your shorts off first.”

Bucky stands and pulls his T-shirt over his head and lets his underwear slide down his legs. He kneels on the couch, facing the back of it like Steve told him to.

He feels Steve’s greedy kisses and bites align his back, moving further and further down his spine. His hands fist the soft fabric of the cushions when Steve reaches his tailbone.

Steve grabs two handfuls of Bucky’s bare cheeks and spreads them. He licks a long, wet stripe from his taint to his tail.

“Jesus...” Bucky bites his lip, attempting to stifle a loud moan, as to not wake Joey asleep in the other room.

Thank God, Tony got them their own [room](https://www.cosmopolitanlasvegas.com/accommodation/west-end-penthouse).

Steve gives short licks with his whole tongue to Bucky’s entrance and Bucky can taste blood as he kneads his bottom lip between his teeth.

He’s halfway over the couch when Steve changes rhythm and kitten-licks at his pucker before breaching him with his tongue. Bucky can feel the wet crawl of spit slide to his balls.

“Oh, my God... Steve…”

Steve’s fingertips dig roughly into Bucky’s buttocks as he holds him open, fucking him with his mouth.

Bucky leans back, grabbing Steve’s head, holding him in place, as he pushes back, putting pressure on Steve’s ministrations.

Steve eats him out, curling a hand round Bucky's hip, grabbing his erection. He strokes him twice, then rubs his thumbs across the sopping head.

“Stevie! Get up here.” Bucky grabs Steve’s bicep and yanks on him. Steve rises and lets Bucky maneuver him onto his lap. His kisses him, and Bucky can taste himself on Steve’s tongue.

Steve slides his boxers off his ass, trying to take Bucky into him—

“Hey. Hey. No. I got to work you open a little, sweetheart.”

Steve groans. “Just take me, Buck.”

“I don’t want to hurt you. Won’t take long. I promise.” Bucky wet two fingers in his mouth and reaches between Steve’s legs, finding his entrance, and teases it. Steve’s head falls to Bucky’s shoulder. His hand cards through the brunet’s hair as he moans into his neck.

Bucky slips his index finger inside, working it wetly in and out to the first knuckle.

“Buck…”

“Shhh…” Bucky slides his finger in to the hilt.

“More,” Steve begs.

Bucky watches Steve’s face as he slowly pushes in his middle finger. He glides his two fingers along Steve’s walls, gradually gaining a faster pace; the tips of his fingers barely grazing Steve’s prostate.

Steve’s eager, trying to push back on Bucky’s hand, needing more friction. Needing it deeper, and rougher, but Bucky keeps him on edge, fingering him shallowly. 

"Bucky stop teasing. Please," Steve whines.

Bucky pushes in harder, right on top of Steve’s prostate, making him cry out. He scissors his fingers, spreading Steve’s opening.

“Oh, Bucky, now! I need you now!”

He grabs Steve’s hand and licks his palm. Steve wraps his damp hand around Bucky’s cock, wetting it.

Bucky manages Steve’s underwear off him, and lifts him over his dick. Steve sinks down carefully, enjoying every inch of Bucky inside him.

Bucky kisses him, all tongue and fervor. “Come on, sweetheart. Move a little for me.”

Steve nods, a bit dazed, but cants his hips forward then back.

“Oh, God… That’s it, baby.”

Steve leans back, placing his hands on Bucky’s knees, a swivels his hips slowly, working himself on Bucky’s cock. Bucky’s head falls back onto the sofa. His hands mold the hot skin on Steve’s hips.

Steve’s rhythm picks up, moving faster. Harder.

“Oh, shit! Like that Stevie.”

“Yeah, Buck? You like that?”

“G-God, yes. Shit...”

Steve swirls his hips faster, grinding down on Bucky’s thick cock, hitting his prostate. “You feel so good, Bucky.”

“You feel good, too, doll. Dammit. I’m close already.”

“Me, too.”

Bucky pulls Steve forward, holding him around his waist. He braces on hand on the back of the couch and holds Steve up, pistoning his cock inside him. Steve’s nothing but bitten back moans and whimpers that drive Bucky insane. He slams hard, each time, into Steve, hitting that spot with a violent jab.

Steve’s crying. Tears running down his face. Bucky looks down: there’s cum all over his stomach. Steve came. The blonde didn’t even scream out or chant Bucky’s name; his usual fanfare when he orgasms. Just a trembling sob of letting go, so deep in ecstasy.

“Oh, shit, baby!” Bucky’s own orgasm builds in his toes, working it’s way up his body with a humming that makes him feel weightless. Steve’s skin feels too good to touch. Everything hurts and feels like bliss at the same time.

They lock eyes as Bucky releases hot streams of his orgasm inside Steve, losing himself to the feel of it, of the light happiness of pleasure that comes with holding someone you can’t live without.

They stay like that a long while. Holding one another and breathing. They’re damp with sweat and sticky with cum, but it’s of no consequence right now.

“…I really wish I did have an affair with you.”

“No, you don’t. You'd never want to hurt someone like that. Even Brock.”

“But I do.” He lifts his head from Bucky’s neck to look at him. “I think about it a lot. How if I had just known you sooner... I was eating at The Howling Commandos for a year before I even saw your face. I could have been with you a whole year earlier.”

“Ever think you weren’t meant to?” He runs his thumb smoothly along Steve’s bottom lip. “That we met right when we were supposed to? I wouldn’t change a thing, Stevie. Love you too much to regret anything.”

“James…” Steve kisses him, dire and moved.

They fall horizontally onto the couch. Bucky finally pulls out of Steve, and Steve can feel the sloppy, wet goo of Bucky's cum dribble out of him and down his thigh. He could care less. He's in his husband's arms, who thinks they were destined for one another.

“No more shoulda-coulda-wouldas, alright? You’re mine. I’m yours. And that’s all there is, punk.”

Steve smiles against Bucky’s lips. He’s right. That’s all there is, and all there needs to be. Just the two them, Sarah, and Joey. No amount of exes should taint that. This is their fate, and it's a damn good outcome.

“End of the line, Buck. End of the line.”


End file.
